


Franklin at the Civic

by mishmish



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 02:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17235713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishmish/pseuds/mishmish
Summary: Another day, another lottery for the hottest off-Broadway show in town. Erik knows better than to get his hopes up.





	Franklin at the Civic

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaning out (very) old drafts. This one was topical when I wrote it.

_ If they draw your name I can’t claim it on your behalf.  _ He hit send, then decided to add: _ I’ll have a hard time convincing anybody I go by Emma, you know.  _

 

Erik was about to pocket his phone when it buzzed in his hand. 

 

_ How do you know if you don’t try? Be there in five.  _

 

Erik sighed.  _ You said that twenty minutes ago. _

 

Either vanquished or, more likely, on a receptionless subway route, Emma didn’t respond. Erik looked around the theater lobby. The place was packed. All the appropriate-looking sitting surfaces were taken. There was a bench off to the side. One half of the bench was occupied by a life-sized statue of Benjamin Franklin. The other half of the bench was empty. 

 

What exactly, Erik wondered, is bench-statue etiquette? Was it a statue on a bench, in which the empty side of the bench was fair game? Or was the bench more appropriately considered part of an art installation, and sitting on it would be uncouth? It looked like a perfectly solid bench, but nobody else was sitting on it, but then, would anybody say anything if he did? Maybe he should just chance it. 

 

He glanced at his phone. No point even sitting. No way would Emma make it in time for the drawing. He’d be out of there, ticketless, in minutes. 

 

He leaned against the wall and gazed around. He’d been here so many times before, but he hadn’t really taken a step back to  _ look _ . The lobby was abuzz with the excited chatter of would-be fans, each one hoping they might be the lucky ones. 

 

He’d shared their excitement, once. But he knew better than to expect that this lottery would be any different than the others. He’d suffered through too many fruitless attempts to secure tickets. Emma still held out hope. Erik went along with it for her sake, but he knew better than to expect anything anymore. 

 

He made eye contact with the woman tending the lobby bar. They’d become friendly, albeit on a no-name basis, due to his recent habit of stopping by for a drink after losing. Emma sometimes joined, sometimes not, but he’d come to look forward to his afternoon whiskey sour regardless. 

 

“Excuse me.” Erik turned to face an old man. No, a very young man who just happened to dress like an old man. “Sorry, are you here alone?”

 

“Waiting for a friend.” 

 

“Oh. Well, the drawing’s about to happen so if your friend doesn’t show would you want to pair off?” 

 

Erik shrugged. “Sure.”  _ Not that it’ll make a difference _ , he thought. Just realism. Not bitterness. Not at all. 

 

The man grinned. “Thanks! I’m only in town for the weekend and won’t have the chance to try tomorrow so I was hoping to find someone else here to double my chances.” 

 

Poor thing thought he actually  _ had _ a chance. Chances, even. More than one chance. Erik smiled politely. 

 

“Just visiting, or?” 

 

“Had a job interview. Went well, I think! Just decided to stay the weekend for fun. I’m from around here originally, actually, but I’ve been living overseas for so long that I feel like a tourist.” 

 

_ You look like one, too. _

 

Not in a bad way. He looked perfectly at home amid the city bustle. He looked like a chic young scion who was staying at an older relative’s pied-a-terre on a moment's whim and made do in said relative’s closet. Erik knew a few people who aimed for the same aesthetic and missed badly. But then, he knew a few people who nailed it, too. Really the only thing that marked the guy as foreign was his English-flavored accent. That, and the chipper demeanor towards strangers. That was most of it, actually. 

 

“Good luck with the job. Any other plans while you’re in town?”

 

“Brunch with my sister tomorrow. There are a few friends I probably should try to see while I’m in town but I rather like keeping an open schedule. I can wander at my own pace that way.” 

 

“Sounds nice.” 

 

“Have you tried the lottery before?” 

 

“Oh, many times.” Erik grinned. “I’m planning to buy tickets for the Broadway transfer. I don’t expect to get in before that, I just do the lottery for Emma’s sake.” 

 

“Girlfriend?”   
  


“No, just a friend. I work nearby so I can pop out and back if I need to. She promises a reward if I win her a ticket.” 

 

“What sort of a reward?” 

 

“Knowing Emma, probably just the other ticket.”

 

The man laughed a wide-mouthed, sparkling-eyed laugh. Erik hadn’t even been joking. Still, the stranger’s amusement was infectious. Erik chuckled.  
  


“You know,” the man mused, “I’ve never been a big theater buff, but I never thought a musical about a Founding Father would be so in demand.” 

 

“Apparently it’s worth the hype. Everyone I know who’s been says it’s revolutionary.” The man gave him an impish, I-see-what-you-did-there smile. “Er, no pun intended.” 

 

“Well, here’s hoping we get to see why tonight. I'm sure Emma would be cross if you gave her ticket away, but if I win, my spare one's yours.” The man cuffed Erik’s shoulder and went to enter his slip. Erik watched his rear view with appreciation. 

 

“All right, everybody,” boomed a voice through some speakers as the stranger scurried back towards Erik’s side. “Are you ready to see who will be the lucky winners to tonight’s performance of Franklin?!” 

 

Erik winced at the answering screams. Poor fools, he thought. Poor, pitiable things. His companion, though silent, gave him a conspiratorial smile. 

 

_ You, too. You poor idiot.  _

 

“Isn’t this sort of exciting?” his companion asked. “Seeing who wins, I mean. The game is on, right?”  
  
  
“Very exciting,” Erik replied. He decided to keep to himself his growing suspicion that the supposed “winners” were in fact plants, and that this was all an elaborate marketing scheme. 

 

“We’ve got four pairs of tickets tonight,” the announcer called as the writer of the show started to turn the machine. “Remember the rules: you must be here to claim your ticket, have cash to pay for the tickets, and show ID to prove you didn’t jack someone else’s win. Otherwise we draw again. First winner is…” 

 

The writer drew a slip. “Rob Howard!”

 

Cheers went up from a small group towards the back, with tepid applause from everyone else. Erik didn’t bother, but his companion clapped with convincing sincerity. The victor hustled forward with a shit-eating grin on his face. Erik bit down a groan. 

 

“Amazing how the composer always shows up to these, isn’t it? Rather nice of him.” The man looked up at Erik. His face was so earnest. 

 

“Rather taunting, if you ask me. Least he can do is put on a show for us.” 

 

“Maybe he will! Crowd’s getting big enough for it, isn’t it.” 

 

“All right,” boomed the announcer. “Our next winner is: Lucy Williams!” 

 

More applause. 

 

_ Halfway through. Almost out.  _

 

“Our penultimate pair of tickets goes to… Robin Sykes!” 

 

_ Almost time to head out, can catch happy hour early, could go for a beer before the after-work crowd…  _

 

“And last but certainly not least… our final pair of tickets goes to… Charles… um, sorry, I don’t know what this handwriting is - is that a K, or? Is that Ka...vi- oh, Xavier! Charles Xavier?” 

 

Erik’s companion - Charles, apparently - let out a victory bellow like none Erik had heard before. 

 

Erik watched Charles collect his tickets in a daze. 

 

They’d  _ won. _

 

He stared at Charles in amazement. 

  
_ Emma’s going to be so pissed. _


End file.
